


Walk in Their Shoes

by Dragaeth



Series: WIP [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Slytherin Harry Potter, and idk how to articulate this but thats fine, i dont know how to tag this, this was supposed to be crack but i gave it a plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28247625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragaeth/pseuds/Dragaeth
Summary: A ten year old Harry Potter finds himself occupying the body of a twenty-six year old Lockhart.
Relationships: Cedric Diggory & Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Sirius Black & Harry Potter
Series: WIP [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100000
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. lockhart

**Author's Note:**

> im not too sure how to fit in the hedric ship but ill try to make it work? no promises tho

Harry Potter was Gilderoy Lockhart. 

Harry Potter did not know how this happened. He was quietly celebrating his birthday at midnight on the makeshift bed on the hut on the rock, and now he was in a lavish silk bed, having long, clumsy limbs that he had trouble controlling. He stumbled to what he assumed was the bathroom and looked into the mirror. He hunched down and took in the view. He had blond hair and blue eyes, his teeth were way too straight, and he wasn’t himself. Jittery and confused, he exited and searched the desks for what could possibly be going on. Sweat trickled down his back as he sorted through the papers on the wooden desk, skimming through each sheet. The man he was in was named Gilderoy Lockhart. He had odd awards, Order of Merlin third class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award. Hang on. Witch? His mind stilled as he observed his surroundings. His thought process was a continuous stream of _what in the world?!_ As he skimmed Lockhart’s non-fiction book titles.

Magic was real. It was the most absurd impossible conclusion he could come to, but it was the only reasonable one. Merlin existed, as well as dragons and other fairy-tales. He let out a breathless laugh. Is this how he got into the roof that one time? And all those other times? Do wizards use wands? Can he do magic without a wand? 

His sudden rush euphoria was cut short. Did this man have a job? Does he have to do magic for the job? Did he have a wife? Oh my god, what about kids? He’s an adult. He’s an adult. He has to act like an adult. What do adults do? Taxes? Do wizards do taxes? He’s only ten technically eleven he doesn’t know how to do taxes! Wait, it was 1992?

Well. Maybe he could learn. He doesn’t have aunt Petunia or Dudley to stop him from learning. Yeah. that's what he’ll do. He didn’t know where to start with magic, though. He needs to- oh that's a very convenient checklist with places to go right there. Diagon alley, Flourish and Blotts, Hogwarts. Now, how to get to those locations? Could he just wish really hard like he did with the roof? Ok, he’s getting a step ahead of himself, he needs to get dressed first. 

He wanted to cry. Why is his wardrobe so flashy? Also, do wizards only wear robes? He grabbed a rather neutral robe lined with grey and gold and put it on. He momentarily forgot that he wasn't wearing his own face, and did a double take in the mirror. Just then, his fireplace flared green(??!??!?!?!?) and a man stepped out of it. “Ah, Gilderoy!” the man greeted, eyes sparkling. This old man felt like a grandfather, with eccentric blue robes with half-moon spectacles, having long bearded white hair. “Gilderoy, we are having a bit of a technicality issue at Hogwarts, but in the meantime, have you finished your lesson plans?” 

Harr- Gilderoy, pretending to be busy, replied boisterously, “Of course, of course, I do hope the students will enjoy my lessons,” he replied, scrambling for something logical to say, basing his pompous personality on his books. 

The old man nodded. “We have an issue with your rooms, it should be fixed in two days. Sorry for the delay,” the man replied. When Gilderoy indicated he had heard the man, he turned back to the fireplace, loudly stating, “Hogwarts, headmaster’s office!” as he _threw ashes into the fireplace and disappeared_. Well, that was a way for transportation, he supposed. He wiped his forehead, letting out a slow breath. Apparently, he was a teacher at this ‘Hogwarts’ and that man was the headmaster. Good to know. He better have some lesson plans or else he would be done for. 

This man was as incompetent in magic as he was. He assigned his own books to the students? They were obviously fiction, or Lockhart was just straight-up lying. His quizzes were just on himself and what he liked. Well, he supposed this was actually good for him, so he could actually learn magic in the meantime. 

The sun was almost setting, orange tinging the skies. He needed to learn more. He already went through most of his belongings. He knew Flourish and Blotts was a bookstore located in Diagon Alley, as he sold his own books there. Hoping for the best, he mimicked Dumbledore’s actions and took the Floo powder and shouted, “Diagon Alley!” and gracelessly stumbled out. Balancing himself, he spun around, marveling the buildings. There were all kinds of odd impossible structures standing perfectly tall and stable. A few eyes were on him, which was expected, but was still uncomfortable. He was famous, after all. He strode towards the bookstore, opening the door with a jingle. There, he bought last year’s reading material for school. “To teach what the students haven’t yet covered,” he stated, grinning handsomely as he dropped a bag of galleons, internally sweating. The cashier blushed as she gave him the books, bidding him a good night. Nodding his head, he left for his house. 

He spent all his waking hours studying Hogwarts itself, spells, potions, leaving creatures for last. It couldn’t be that important. When arriving at Hogwarts, he was greeted by the rest of the staff. _Act like an adult,_ he repeated in his head. _Act like a very stupid adult who somehow ended up in Ravenclaw._ He was a ball of wrecked nerves when sitting at the staff tables during the feast, especially avoiding Snape’s eye. That man had issues. How was he even employed? Instead, he discreetly watched himself, fascinated. He was a wizard! He was famous for something he never did, and he was raised by his mother’s sister who never told him about magic...! But, how was that possible? If he’s in Lockhart and he’s also chatting to Granger and Weasley, what was going on? He shrugged internally, giving up on finding the reason. He barely knew enough about magic to make things float, let alone know whatever this mess was. 

No one smart expected educational value to come from him, which was good. After finishing up his poor excuse of a lesson, he went to his private quarters to practice potion-making without ruining his cauldron. From what he could tell, Snape hated him, so he had to learn by himself. He’s done a few stupid things, like accept the dueling club proposal, but that did make him realize the other him could speak to snakes and that speaking to snakes was known to be evil. That’s stupid, but at least he knows to keep it a secret now. He gave himself detention, hoping that it was actually him in his body. Though when the other Harry didn’t bring up anything, he gave up on his theories. Perhaps an alternate dimension? Who cares. 

He thought Hogwarts was supposed to be the safest school in all Britain. Nevermind, he sighed into Lockhart's hands. Hogwarts was the only wizarding school in Britain, if everyone died right there and then it would still be the safest school. People were getting petrified. He didn’t know what that meant. Apparently, the other Harry did know though and dragged him down to the bloody Chamber of Secrets. Desperate to not, y’know, die, he stole Weasley’s wand and tried to Obliviate him, apparently that was some bodily reflex that Lockhart had. Weasley’s wand was broken though, and he was left without a memory. Lockhart, not Harry. Harry had just plummeted back into his time and universe, lying on the floor, to where he was counting down to his birthday.

He took a few deep breaths, feeling his lungs compress. _What-where-how?_ He cracked open his eyes.

His thoughts were interrupted by a large thump on the door, and he jumped, startled. Another thump. This time, Dudley jumped with him. His guardians emerged, Vernon holding a gun. The door hinges came off as Hagrid pushed the door. _Why was Hagrid here? Shouldn’t it be Mcgonagall?_ He thought to himself, still not fully aware of himself, perplexed at this development. Hagrid picked the door back up and replaced it. “Who's there?” Vernon demanded, reasonably terrified. “I demand that you leave at once, Sir! You are breaking and entering!” Hagrid responded by bending the gun with a single hand, which should be illegal.

“Mind, I haven't seen you since you was a baby, Harry, but you're a bit more along than I would have expected. Particularly 'round the middle!” he started, looking at Dudley. 

“I-I-I'm not Harry.” Dudley stuttered, going pale. He would be enjoying the stutters if he wasn’t desperately confused.

“I-I am.” Harry replied absently, settling himself into his role, drawing attention to himself. Hagrid said he saw him as a baby, yes? Dudley was clearly blonde and he clearly had dark hair. Hagrid really was just stupid.

“Oh, well, of course you are! Got something for ye. 'Fraid I might have sat on it at some point! I imagine that it'll taste fine just the same. Baked it myself.” he handed Harry a misspelled cake, reading ‘happee birdae, Harry’. Just because he got expelled doesn’t mean he had to be illiterate, Hogwarts didn’t even teach English! Did he never learn? 

“It's not every day that your young man turns eleven, now is it?” Hagrid smiled kindly, as a small voice in the back of his head thought twelve.

Whatever, he had a role to play. “Excuse me, who are you?” he tilted his head curiously.

“Rubeus Hagrid. Keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts. ‘course, you'll know all about Hogwarts.” he replied.

“Sorry, no.”

“No? Blimey, ‘arry, didn't you ever wonder where your mum and dad learned it all?”

Harry, enjoying his guardians’ paling faces immensely, replied innocently, “Learnt what?”

“Yer a wizard, Harry.” He watched as Hagrid slowly grew more and more enraged.

“I-I'm a what?”

“A wizard. And a thumping good one at that, I'd wager. Once you train up a little.” he was glaring at the Dursleys now, who huddled up in a corner.

“No, you've made a mistake. I can't be...a-a wizard. I mean, I'm just... Harry. Just Harry.” he rejected, trying to downplay himself.

“Well, Just Harry, did you ever make anything happen? Anything you couldn't explain when you were angry or scared?” Hagrid seemed to calm down, patiently explaining to him. 

“Ah,” he made a sound of understanding. “So, why are you here?” he probed, wanting an explanation. 

“Ah, P‘fessor Dumbledore sent me to get ye. To buy the things for school, you know,” he informed Harry.

Harry frowned. “Well then, come back in the morning. It is very rude to break into someone’s home in the middle of the night. Please leave,” he stated sternly lacing his words with magic, disgruntled and perplexed at what Dumbledore was doing. He knew Dumbledore had odd tendencies revolving around himself, but this was straight illegal. 

Hagrid looked out of place as he apologized, face growing red. “Oh, sorry, Harry, sorry, I didn’t mean ta wake y’all up! And for the door too, I’m so very sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. I’ll be back tomorrow.” he spewed out as he backed away from the house. 

The house fell silent with only the wind howling as Harry slowly turned towards his family. “Aunt, do tell me why I wasn’t told of magic,” he inquired sweetly, deathly green eyes promising revenge, internally shrugging at whatever just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> learning a bit more of the phenomenon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jazz hands, habpy new yr

He never knew if Hagrid came back or not, as the next thing he did after waking up was to take the NightBus to Diagon Alley for the bank. At Gringotts, he was told he needed his key. 

“But i don’t have my key,” he innocently informed them. “I don’t know who my magical guardian is, my only guardians are muggles,” he said loud enough for the purebloods in line to hear.

“Name?” drawled the Goblin teller, lifting an eyebrow.

“Harry Potter,” he calmly replied, faking obliviousness. The chatter within the line quickly died down, hoping to catch bits of the conversation. 

“Three drops of blood for identification,” the goblin informed him, pushing a parchment to him. He nipped his thumb and squeezed out three drops onto the parchment, handing it back to the Goblin. 

The Goblin skimmed over the details and stated. “Very well, Harry Potter. Your magical guardian is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, and-” the goblin cut off, waving another Goblin to his side. They conversed in Gobbledegook for a few minutes before directing him towards the back. He did as the goblins directed and was given a piece of parchment. Curious, on paper his age was undetermined and illegible. It was probably because he was mentally twelve but physically eleven but was physically 27 for seven months. Well, that just meant he could be emancipated and take control over his finances and estates. He had enough experience from Lockharts book deals to manage them well. He withdrew some money and came out, ignoring the stares of everyone who overheard the conversation. He went on to buy second year books as well as his first year books, a broom, and potion materials. His body was pretty malnourished and needed potions if he didn’t want to be constantly cold and short, very uncomfortable now, after living as Lockhart. He felt tired a lot more quickly than he did than in Lockhart’s body and he hated having poor eyesight. He could also probably find an eyesight potion somewhere. 

He Flooed to Potter manor and breathed in the ten years worth of stale air, tracking dust footprints in. it was ancient stone manor, with high ceilings and dusty portraits. There were streams of light coming from the windows, reflecting off the floating dust particles. He settled down his trunk onto the aged dining room table and started to clean. He conversed with the portraits as he did so, learning of his blood and heirlooms. His back cracked as he stood up, dirty rag in hand. He should’ve bought a muggle mop, he thought to himself. Curse the trace for doing its job.

“Charlus, has there been any odd time travel instances in the family? I’ve lived in someone else’s body for seven months before he obliviated himself and I got sent back here.” he asked hesitantly as he cleaned off the rag in the sink.

Charlus furrowed his brows, brown eyes pensive. “Well,” he dragged out, a smile creeping onto his face. “The last record of that happening in this family was in the sixteen hundreds. We stopped sharing the tale after no one seemed to live someone else’s life.” Dorea tried to enter Charlus’ portrait to beat him up for not telling her things while he was defending himself with a shield.

“Wait, so this is a family thing?” Harry asked excitedly, dropping his rag into the sink. “How does it work?” he approached the portrait, as if getting closer would speed up Charlus’ response. 

In a light tone, Charlus replied, “Well, i don’t actually ( _ thunk) _ know. There's a book in the library that could only be opened by Soul Travellers, of which you are.” He looked at Harry amusedly, seemingly enjoying his enthusiasm while blocking her spouses punches. He tilted his head, nodding to himself. “I’ll tell you it’s exact location when you finish cleaning the manor,” he decided, eliciting a groan from Harry, who tried pouting at the portrait. When the portrait just painfully smiled back, he picked himself up and cleaned the manor with renewed vigor.

Three hours and a dirty pair of robes later, he returned to the portrait. “I’m done, now where’s the book?” he asked impatiently. Charlus pulled off a book from his painted shelf on the left, and showed him the cover.

“This is the book you’re looking for,” he stated, displaying the grey binding. “I can’t read the title, but this is the book. It should be in the compartment under the books lying flat in the middle section of the bookshelf, at the lowest level. If you can’t open it, try using a bit of blood or something.” he shrugged, placing the book back onto his shelf. 

He sped down the hall towards the library, passing a number of studies and bedrooms. Heart beating excitedly, he twisted the doorknob, closing the hazelwood door behind him, and scanned the room for the books lying flat on it’s side. He spotted the middle portion Charlus was referring to, and sped-walked towards it. Holding his breath, he removed the dusted books and placed them onto the red carpeted floor, head twisted to look at the spot said to hide that book. There was a square shaped indent in the bookcase. He wedged his pinky finger into the narrow gap, trying to pull up the wood, readjusting his finger for a better grip, sweating in his effort. The square tile didn't so much as budge. He gave up and pulled his red finger out as he steadied his breathing while cooling himself down. He nipped his other pinky finger, squeezing out a drop of blood. He watched as the wood retreated into itself, pushing into the back of the shelf, revealing a grey covered notebook with what seemed like a family symbol. He flipped the book over to the first page. The pages were yellowed but well preserved, probably because of spells and such. The names on the side opposing the cover displayed Ignotus Peverell, Linfred, and Ralston Potter, written with increasingly fresh ink. He settled down and started to read, turning each page delicately. 

He finished the journal in an hour, thoroughly bewildered. Apparently, Ignotus unknowingly made a deal with Death to acquire the invisibility cloak, in which he realized in his later accounts. Because his body was hidden from Death, Death kept trying to collect just his soul without his body, throwing his soul into the bodies of those who had little time left in the conscious world, most commonly occurring two years in the future. He suspected that it was in an attempt to overwhelm him enough to wish to die. Though, even Death couldn't mess with fate. Inevitably, universes diverting from the original were created, as Ignotus used the knowledge from the future to his advantage. He was placed in seven different bodies before it stopped. He eventually passed down a version of his tale to his son, making him vow to keep the book safe and make their descendants do the same. 

Linfred, after a deadly potion's accident and a two month long coma, had his first experience with his soul misplaced at the age of 26. He has heard of a family myth of a similar experience, and took it in stride. He was quite boring, he just observed himself making potion breakthroughs and just speeding it up when he got back into his own body, occasionally getting severely injured. He got three different people to replace.

Ralston was a politician, a member of the Wizengamot. He got into a deadly duel with one of his rivals when the tensions got high and had to get his lungs replaced, and from the other bodies, he witnessed a war between wizards and muggles. The wizards won, but there was just so much blood shed. Then, wizards went to war with each other, disagreeing with petty crimes. So, he fought for the statute of secrecy, preventing said wars. He had five people.

It seemed, from the pattern of his ancestors, he should've been in someone else's body the moment the green spell hit him. But why didn't his soul travel all those times he would've died of malnutrition? Was something stopping his soul? 

He shifted his legs, bottom sore and legs strained from staying in the same position on the floor. He returned the book to its rightful place, stretching his tiny limbs, rolling his shoulders. He walked out in a daze, strolling out of the manor and into the garden, trying to sort through his mind. 

There seemed to be a correlation between their near brushes with death and the number of times they were transported. Ignotus was an experimental man, and was constantly challenged for his achievements. Linfred had three incidents,he just did potions based on his future success in peace, probably botching up a batch on purpose just so he could see the future. Ralston was a politician, and probably got into a few heated fights with his rivals, but they were supposed to be dignified politicians, so it wasn't likely to be common. Himself though? He was the outlier. He was plenty familiar with the thought of death, but his soul was never moved until then. He wasn't at risk of dying before he moved, he was just celebrating his birthday on the floor. Was there something wrong with his soul? Having this questionable epiphany, he headed back to the library, determined yet doubtful to find a book on souls. 

Well. The Peverell’s really did have a lot of research done, he thought to himself as he flipped open a large tomb. But as he opened the large text, he bashed his head on top of the open book, devastated. Of course he couldn’t read it, it was all in old english. Unlike the journal, he couldn’t just read it by having his soul misplaced. He searched the entire library twice before checking the hidden compartment just for him to not be able to read it. He dragged himself out, rubbing his eyes, slightly red. He entered the closest bedroom to the library and tucked himself into bed. It’s been a long day.


End file.
